


Snow Games

by Grimmy88



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 17:02:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grimmy88/pseuds/Grimmy88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Surprisingly, or not, Ellis loves the snow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snow Games

            Cold wasn’t something Ellis hated, which came as much of a surprise to his older lover as it was to himself. Probably because Nick despised being cold just as he despised being too hot. So one had to figure, with such fancy clothes, the man was never _really_ comfortable.

            Ellis was able to shrug off intense heat having worked and played so many summers in it and when it had come time to adapt to the cold he’d handled the drastic temperature drop just as well. Sure, his teeth chattered and he constantly harbored goose bumps as the year wore on into the colder months, but with a new set of clothes he was more than content to feel the brisk northern chill on the air and in his lungs.

            And when the first snows—real snows, Nick said, the ones that piled high and got kids off school—started to fall he’d been bought a heavy jacket, thick gloves, and given a warm knitted hat from somewhere or another and he’d been fine.

            The conman had instantly began sulking because all he wore was leather, well, save for his awesome winter coat. Ellis had wanted one, the exact same one, but Nick had brushed his request aside easily, assuring the hick that he’d need a thicker one. Needless to say he was glad he listened.

            Glad at the moment anyway, as he sat crouched, patting pieces of snow together and setting them aside. Behind him a bird chirped and the wind shook tree branches.

            When Nick pulled up and got out of his car—a BMW they had just decided to buy, he didn’t bother to look up from locking his car and popping the collar of his jacket against the frigid day.

            Which really was a huge mistake.

            Ellis had played baseball from the age of four and then up until the end of his high school years. Not to mention the normal amount of football and other sports on the side he’d played with his friends, as most young men usually did.

            So even though the puff of coat surrounding his arm attempted to dampen his talents his first throw sailed and splattered only the slightest bit from its home on the back of Nick’s head to the neighboring area of the soft, back skin of his neck instead.

            The gambler stopped.

            And Ellis’ second shot didn’t miss.

            Nick turned, eyes instantly picking up the redneck half-hidden behind his pathetic makeshift fort. Ellis waved.

            “How old are you again?”

            “Not old enough-ta complain all the time, I guess.”

            “It’s fucking freezing out here,” Nick scolded, “and if you throw another you’ll have to sleep in it.”

            Ellis looked down at the snowball he’d been packing and then back up at his partner who had fumed to the door with his keys out.

            The next packed ball hit the conman in the ear.

            And that was enough. Nick dropped his items—a plastic bag, into which their keys dropped, and a small box that had been under his arm—and sprinted straight towards Ellis’ fort.

            The southerner gave a loud laugh, setting off in a backwards jog as Nick stopped over his fort. When the ringed fingers took a chunk of snow from the wall Ellis bent to work creating his own ammo.

            And then it was a literal free-for-all.

            Nick threw harder than the hillbilly and Ellis realized it was because he didn’t care for accuracy. But the way he saw it, aiming and taking a little ‘oomph’ off the ball so he could actually hit the gambler was better than throwing out his elbow with only a fifty percent success rate.

            But after a few hits, and most likely bruises later, Ellis was starting to think his lover had the right idea. So when he chucked his first snowball with the full force of his arm he managed to hit Nick in the leg with a resounding thump. A hit that would definitely bruise considering the older man’s thin jeans.

            He could see the pain flittering across the green eyes for only a moment. And then they hardened again and the fight recommenced.

            Puffs of fog burst from both their mouths at regular intervals. The cold air didn’t go down well—it went down as if the rapid sucking was too much cold air at one time—it went down as if it were freezing everything it touched on the way, and any breath thereafter was adorned with rusty razor blades.

            But Nick wasn’t giving up and so neither could he, though maybe the older man wasn’t because he wasn’t. He couldn’t be sure.

            Not that it mattered anymore apparently because all of a sudden there was a biting, hard crack against his cheekbone and then a cold, wet hold cupping his back and arms and legs and neck and most importantly his skull.

            “Aw, fuck it,” Nick said beside him. “Sorry, kid. You okay?”

            Ellis opened his eyes and saw ephemeral blue and blinding white and concerned green.

            “Yeah.”

            White teeth grinned down at him. “Guess I win.”

            “You can’t win off a headshot.”

            “You hit _me_ in the head earlier.”

            “That was-ta getchya-ta play, thass different,” Ellis protested softly. His cheek pulsed and he had to wonder whether that snowball had been made of brick.

            “I see, taking my win away. Fine.” Nick took off a glove and pressed two fingers against the skin he had hit. And by how much that little touch stung Ellis knew he’d have at least one visible mark in the morning.

            “I’m fine, Ikin get up.”

            The gambler hummed a little in his throat, out of amusement or something, and bent low. And then his face blurred and Ellis felt two kisses, one on his forehead and then the second on the bridge of his nose, over that horizontal scar, patronizing and playful. Nick’s lips were dry and chilled but they provided welcome pressures.

            Because his fellow survivor never touched him as such. Sure, once or twice he’d get a chaste, maybe embarrassed, often obligatory touch of lips on his head but every other kiss was saved for their more ‘productive’ moments.

            There were no qualms about kissing in public between them—there really couldn’t have been considering Nick’s goal of having sex in every open place they could.

            But those were never the soft kisses two people in a relationship like theirs were supposed to share—they were hot, fast, searing ones that dared any witness to speak out about them.

            There were many times, like now, when it felt like Nick traveled the same path of thought that Ellis did. Because now the card shark stared at him, hard and unmoving green from blue, before moving to get up.

            Ellis caught him by the back of the neck with his snow-crusted gloves—because his hand would’ve slipped off the jacket—and pulled him back down.

            Their kiss wasn’t warm or wet, but Ellis opened his mouth all the same for it. Nick, however, seemed content to let their lips trace against each other’s instead of taking anything further or deeper. And the redneck found himself content as well in that decision.

            When they drew apart it was because a pocket of snow had managed to slide into the top opening of Ellis’ coat where it furthered its path by slipping down to the base of his neck. The corresponding shiver had urged Nick away.

            So Ellis let himself be drawn up and taken inside.

 

            Now, for a man who constantly made fun of Ellis’ ‘childish’ choices, be it about clothes or food or television shows or wanting to play video games or liking NASCAR, Nick sure as hell contradicted him with all the spoiling he did. And the redneck knew what it meant to be spoiled having grown up an only child and all.

            And somewhere in the back of his mind Ellis knew he’d made this realization before, one he probably made often, one he let himself make often.

            So he wasn’t surprised when a mug of hot cocoa was settled down on the table in front of him, nor had he been when, after they’d redressed, Nick had plopped one of their thin blankets down over his shoulders. He just let himself feel pleased and acknowledged his luck.

            Nick sat beside him, warming his fingers around a warm mug of his own filled with steaming coffee.

            The mechanic tilted his head back to smile at the older man, a smile that was returned with one corner of the thin mouth lifting. The television clicked on a moment later and the news people began to talk, filling the silence.

            Ellis waited several minutes to take a sip of his drink and when he figured it had been long enough to avoid scalding himself he gulped down at least half the mug. He set it down with a clink and leaned his head back again.

            “How’s my cheek?”

            Nick turned to look, one arm circling the hick’s shoulders while the other, mug-free, moved up to allow his fingers a grasp at the cleft-chin. “Red.”

            “Gonna bruise cause-a you,” the younger man said. He lifted his hand to grab the gray t-shirt his lover wore, bearing himself down so that he could crane his neck up, sighing when his lips were met.

            “You taste like chocolate,” Nick murmured when they withdrew.

            “So? You taste like coffee.”

            Their kisses were warm now, moist and audible even over the weather lady’s voice. A quick suction of his lips, an entrance of tongue, and circling touches had Ellis reaching for the remote to silence any distractions. And then he reached for Nick’s shirt to discard the visible distractions as well.

            The northerner returned the favor, tossing Ellis’ t-shirt across the room before loosening the hold of his pajama pants which the mechanic readily stood to ditch.

            Nick didn’t follow him up, however, and, anticipating his lover’s next words, he gathered up the blanket and spread it across the couch.

            Another of those gentle kisses to his shoulder and big hands to his biceps urged him to turn and he did so that he could press himself against Nick for warmth, for lust, for completion.

            “Lie down,” the nasal voice commanded.

            So he did, on his back, positioning a pillow beneath his head, arms apart, and legs open. And then Nick settled atop him, heavy and reassuring and so good that he couldn’t help but wrap his limbs about the larger body and hope that he wasn’t told to let go.

            He wasn’t.

            Nick’s mouth, teeth, tongue found his again and the hick knew that his face—cheek and jaw—probably weren’t going to work correctly in the morning.

            Their chests began to rub together first, creating addicting friction and heat compounded by the feel of muscles and lines and curves pressing together.

            Their hips followed the rhythm, erections, already awake, pulling and pushing frantically against one another—hard and demanding and wet.

            The attention on his mouth disappeared then, refocusing onto his cheek and jaw and neck and throat. New bruises masterfully formed.

            When Nick moved up, back curving so he could lean to lavish the same attention on Ellis’ collarbone the redneck tightened the circle of his arms, not wanting the heat nor pressure to disappear.

            He followed his partner up into a sitting position, welcoming the conman to continue kneeling while he lifted his mouth to return the pattern given to him: mouth, cheek, jaw, neck, throat, infusing scrapes and sucks and slick tongue.

            Nick crushed him back down then, their bodies bouncing off the couch in a juvenile hop that neither cared to laugh at. Instead their bodies fell back into the motion of each other, undulating and rolling and feeling.

            Neither man wanted to venture too far, mouths or hips, but Ellis managed to free his hands from beneath his lover’s arms and reposition them around the full shoulders instead, wrapping them there and holding Nick’s face, panting, against the side of his.

            And when he moved his legs down, one hooking up on top of the couch’s back, the other sprawling down to touch the hardwood floor, he hoped the action was loud enough in place of his now-lost-voice.

            Nick’s hands cupped the back of his thighs, acceptance, agreement, excitement determining their position. And then the thrusting, the gasping, the quiet words that Nick only murmured when they were all alone culminated together in the mingled seeds that pooled on Ellis’ torso.

            The heavy body above him didn’t drop straight down, something of which the southerner was appreciative. Using the moment Ellis shifted, pulling his draping leg away and to the side to join its twin so that Nick could lie on his side against the billowed back of the furniture.

            And before they settled the hick reached across the table for tissues, which he tossed to the floor once they served their purpose. And before Nick could protest he turned and pressed himself, once again, against the other man’s chest, aligning his face and chin with neck and collarbone. He gave the skin he could a kiss.

            “Don’t ambush me tomorrow.”

            “If it’s gonna end like this again I’m gonna,” Ellis grinned.

            Nick sighed but not in annoyance. “You warm enough?” He drew up the dangling side of the blanket without an answer and tucked it around their bodies.

            Ellis let him even though he had felt plenty of warmth.


End file.
